


These Three

by owlbsurfinbird



Series: Choose Your Own Garden Adventure [4]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Choose Your Own Ending, Developing Relationship, M/M, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-05 08:42:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4173345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlbsurfinbird/pseuds/owlbsurfinbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If she went to Los Angeles, she'd miss those cold, rainy days. Snuggling warm in bed, tea at hand, the three of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Three

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Wendymr for beta, Britpick, and for the idea. Errors that remain are mine.
> 
> "The Plot" —the first story in the series—is the basic beginning. This is one of the possible endings. Two more endings to come.

_**These Three** _

_** Native Americans all over the U.S. and Canada use a term they call the Three Sisters to describe the Native American way of life through the gardening technique of planting corn, beans and squash together on the same mound. These Three Sisters - corn, beans and squash supplement and complement each other. The vines of the bean plant grow up the corn stalk. The huge leaves of the squash vines keep the ground moist for all of the roots. The nutritious vitamins from each of the plants escapes into the soil so that they each benefit from one another. - Deborah Champlain  ** _

Laura cracked another egg into the pan—two for each of them—six total, each jutting up against the other companionably. She and James took turns doing fry-ups when they had days off, leaving Robbie to make porridge on cold rainy days.

She and Robbie had talked about asking James to move in. She smiled to herself. If nothing else, it would mean fewer mornings of Robbie's burnt porridge.

If she went to Los Angeles, she'd miss those cold, rainy days. Snuggling warm in bed, tea at hand, the three of them. James turning up early, letting himself in downstairs, invariably finding the boiler out and the house bitterly cold.

He had come upstairs that first time, concerned because he heard no answer to his calls. Interrupting them under the covers—so many covers. He knocked, apparently, and hearing nothing, had opened the door.

And then he’d squeaked in surprise.

Still made her smile, his exclamation, the way his voice hit that high register of surprise and dismay. He'd been mortified.

Even more so when she’d cheekily invited him to do it again, but next time to join them.

It was a joke, then.

Not so much now, though.

Not that it happened often, but oh, when it did. And how could she give that up? What woman would?

She pressed the bacon between paper towels to get rid of the grease. Who would sop up bacon fat for Robbie if she left? He wouldn't. He'd be back on dinner in a box in an instant. Pub lunches. Die of a heart attack. Little Jack would grow up not really knowing his granddad. James would lose his best and dearest friend.

So—that was on the one hand. That and Robbie not wanting her to go. Not that he’d said anything. He'd been very careful to be nothing but supportive, kind. Totally unlike his usually opinionated self.

Almost made her wish he'd blow up at her and insist that she stay. She wanted someone to fight for her to remain. Shouldn't have to be all on James, poor man. He'd read the application, pronounced it brilliant, gave her a hug and whispered in her ear, "I know you want to go. Please, don't leave us. I can't give him what you can."

She brushed a tear with the corner of her sleeve. _Damn the man. Damn them both._

Yes, it was the opportunity of a lifetime—to teach in a world-renowned program. To—god, to be able to teach those young, unfeeling American doctors a little compassion for the victims’ families.

She knew why she was being offered the fellowship. In researching the position, she'd found a YouTube video of a relative being shown the body of her mother. The mobile phone video, taken by one of the morgue staff, was trending—and for good reason. The officer in charge was abrupt, the body was carelessly draped, the pathologist was in the background, filling out paperwork and laughing with a colleague. It was horrific, it made her sick, and she said so. Her required essay blasted the Americans, their blasted healthcare system, their blasted lack of common human decency.

Oh, she had a good rant.

And now, here she was, banging pots and—was something burning? _Shit._ The edge of a tea towel had drifted onto the stove—thing was smoldering. She dumped it into the sink, dousing it with water. She hung her head and then looked up.

Robbie, with his unerring ability to read her mind, was looking up at the window—right into her soul, apparently.

"Breakfast!" she shouted from the kitchen door. "And I have news."

The two men came in, and James had barely uttered the words, "Is something bu—"

Robbie shook his head, raising his eyebrows, clearly not wanting to upset her. She watched as James surreptitiously nosed around the kitchen until he found the tea towel, still in the sink. He squeezed it out, binned it. Stood at the counter, washing tomatoes, slicing them thick and placing them under the grill for a quick turn. Robbie got the juice from the fridge, poured. She slid eggs and bacon onto plates. They moved in a synchronous motion, as if choreographed, each intent on their task, each focused on the outcome.

It was the reason they worked well together in all things. In all areas.

She sighed. How could she possibly give this up.

James dropped into his customary spot on one side, Robbie on the other.

Just like—oh, god, don't even think about that. Last night. Each of them tenderly taking turns in their own way to convince her to stay with them.

She put her elbows on the table and dropped her forehead in her hands, her thumbs rubbing at her temples. She heard coffee being poured at her elbow.

And, then, silence.

Even Robbie was being patient. She knew it had to be killing him. She glanced at him, watching his chin come up. James's eyes moved from Robbie to Laura to Robbie and back to Laura, where they remained. His chin went down, as if he was going to collapse in on himself.

_Oh, they are a pair._

"Three teaching days per week, all interns in their final year of training. One to three teaching ratio—with apologies for being on the high side until other hiring decisions are made mid-term. The fellowship would come with a decent salary, a house and a car for a year, subject to contract renewal." Her voice sounded small in the thick silence. She straightened her shoulders, projecting confidence into her decision. "I'd have to have a car, apparently, since no one walks in LA except along the beach. The house is a mile from the beach—"

James seemed to sag. He knew she loved the beach.

"—And includes housecleaning and gardening services."

Robbie sat up straighter.

Ready to take it on the chin like a man, she thought.

"It's small—one of the original Arts and Crafts bungalows—but it's completely refurbished throughout. Furnished, of course. Lovely patio, very private. The former occupant was fond of night-blooming jasmine and ferns. There's an organic vegetable garden to the west side of the house. Citrus trees on the south side."

She looked down at her plate. If she moved to LA, fried eggs would be a thing of the past. She'd be sitting in front of an omelet made of eggs whites and stuffed with colorful bell peppers. There would be an avocado on top. Goat cheese somewhere on the side with mango slices and melon.

_Not fond of goat cheese._

She tucked into her eggs. Bacon and sausages would be a thing of the past if she wanted to move in the right circles—it was the dividing line between classes.

The tension at the table was palpable—it seemed to stretch between the three of them. She had an impulse to pluck that string and see what sort of noise it would make.

And that was another thing: finding another orchestra. She was second chair now, no mean feat when you considered how little she practiced and how seldom she made rehearsals.

James—who always seemed to be practicing for his band or playing with them these days (though she wondered if that was really the case)—was poking his eggs. Literally prodding them about on his plate. Robbie had eaten his eggs and his bacon and his muffin and was looking at her bacon.

She picked it up and ate it, more out of spite than hunger. Her eyes skittered to James to see if he'd—and yes, there he was, offering his remaining bacon to Robbie and damned if the man didn't take it—

"—It's a marvelous opportunity," she continued, overlooking the food exchange. "An honor to be chosen for a position like this. You understand this, both of you, don't you? Top forensics program? You see what's at stake here?" She said with some asperity. "This is literally the opportunity of a lifetime."

Robbie stared at her, his back straight and his expression grim, searching her face. She had no idea what he saw there, but he suddenly slumped, pushed his plate away, and set his elbows on the table with a great thump.

"You turned it down."

"Dammit, Robbie."

"You turned it down, didn't you? I knew—didn't I tell you?" He grinned happily at her and James, and then took her by the shoulders and kissed her, hard. "I love you. Didn't want to say a word, but I didn't want to—"

"Robbie," James interrupted. "She didn't actually say that she turned it down."

"But you did, didn't you?" Robbie sat back in his chair, stricken. "You did turn it down, didn't you? I know, opportunity of a lifetime, but—you can't leave me. Us. You can't go to California! Not even for a year! You'd start wearing those, whatdyacall 'em, Birkenstocks and—" He looked to James for support.

"Hugging trees, that's what usually follows the word 'Birkenstocks,'" James supplied. "And the word 'Dude.'" He drew this last word out.

Robbie and Laura laughed, but Robbie still seemed uncertain.

"Of course I turned it down. Don't look so smug, Robert Lewis. Had very little to do with you or your partner in crime. Had more to do with—" She took a deep breath. "—parking. Yes, the house is near the beach and the photos are spectacular. The sunsets alone would be worth it, if I was able to watch them while circling the area looking for a place to park." She bit her lower lip. "It is the opportunity of a lifetime, yes, but it is not a top-notch offer. Those are reserved for fellows of a much higher status. They are given lodgings in Westwood within walking distance of the campus."

She got up and poured herself more coffee, warming up their cups as well. "They invited me to contact the previous fellow, who shared some of his experiences with the place." She sat back down, cradling the cup in her hands. "He rhapsodized about the faculty, the students, the lab facilities—all excellent. When I asked how he normally spent his days, the truth came out: he spent hours looking for places to park his car."

James huffed a laugh.

"There's no dedicated spot for parking at the house—it's hit and miss. Told me he once spent the night at his office because he didn't want to move the car from the faculty car park."

Robbie curled his hand beneath his chin and beamed at her. "You turned it down because of parking."

James got up, took his plate, and headed for the stove. "I need to heat this up. Can I make anything for anyone?"

"More bacon?" Robbie sounded hopeful.

James shook his head, he turned slightly from the stove. "Giving you the name of the previous fellow seems reasonable—at least on the surface."

Laura smiled into her coffee. "It does."

"It doesn't. They knew you'd call the man, find out the downside, but they had to make the offer so that you'd feel favorable toward them." Robbie nodded, and sat back in his chair, satisfied. "They want something from you."

She finished her coffee and set down the mug. Of course he saw it straight away. She should have discussed it with him. But he'd been standoffish the minute he heard that she had applied. "They do. And we'll have to make some changes." She set her hands on either side of the mug, palms flat on the table.

James returned to the table. He reached for her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed her knuckles before releasing it. He gave her a shy smile and gave a broader one to Robbie. He reached across the table and tapped Robbie's free hand. Robbie took his, squeezed it, and held on.

"Not kissing your hand," Robbie said to James, his other hand still curled under his chin. He deliberately shifted his gaze to Laura.

"There's a challenge," James replied, with a little smile. "What changes, Laura? At work?"

She nudged Robbie's elbow so that he took her hand on one side, James took her hand on the other.

"Work, yes. They want more data for PredPol and-" She cocked her head. "If I can get Jean to approve it, I'd like to borrow Lizzie on occasion because she likes the cold cases for forensic data. And it's good training for OSPRE."

James gave her one of his rare smiles.

He's so proud of his sergeant, Laura thought. Reminds me of Robbie sometimes, the way he's starting to shepherd her along.

"She's sharp, that one. Good for you, too," Robbie added. "I'm relieved she stuck with you through the worst of your growing pains."

"I was only behaving badly because I wanted the right sergeant, the best sergeant."

"At least you learned something from me then. Waiting for the best." Robbie gave James a warm smile.

Laura turned to Robbie, who knew what was coming. They'd discussed it weeks ago prior to the fellowship offer. It seemed the most logical thing in the world, really. She squeezed Robbie's hand and tilted her chin in James's direction. Robbie's eyes lit up.

He tugged gently on James's hand. "James. You said you had things to do today. What are you up to?"

James raised his wrists. "Being held captive and unable to eat my breakfast, apparently."

Laura let go of his right hand.

"Saturday chores," he said, as he finished off his eggs. "Bookshop later. And, as I told you, need to buy a new kettle. Red letter day in the Hathaway household."

"You don't need a new kettle." Laura took his hand again. His hand was warm; she tapped their clasped hands against the tabletop for emphasis. "I don't like having to summon you to breakfast with a text."

James grew very still.

"We'd like to be able to just give a shout," Robbie said gently. "Or walk across the landing, knock on your door." He dropped his gaze to the table. "Or, um, just roll over in bed and say, 'Breakfast,' that is, when we're all up for it."

"Breakfast?" James raised an eyebrow.

"Daft sod." Robbie made a wry face. "You know what I mean."

The expression on James's face was dreamlike: soft, vulnerable, expectant. "Tell me what you mean."

"I mean," Laura began, "that when I considered leaving, I couldn't do it. I couldn't leave Robbie and the more I thought about it, the more I realized I couldn't leave you either, James." She knew she was being sarky, but she didn't care. Her eyes twinkled mischievously. "You're a pair, the two of you. Keeping me from my lofty dreams."

Robbie rubbed the back of his neck. "Can't keep you from anything you want, pet. Wouldn't try." He gazed at her fondly and then shifted his eyes to James. "And you. It's whatever you want, too, James. I don't think anyone's ever said that to you and meant it—so I want to be the one. Whatever you want. I want to give you whatever you want."

James's mouth compressed, as if he wanted to make a speech or was afraid of saying the wrong thing. Laura squeezed his hand tightly until he looked at her, questioning. "What?"

"The answer you're looking for is, 'Yes,'" she said, emphatically.

"But I don't know about the other, I mean, I hope you don't expect that we'd share a bed on a regular basis because I—"

"We know, James," Robbie said. "It's whatever you want." He sighed. "I hate talking about this sort of thing. Feelings. Expectations. It's just that you're here all the time—and we want you here all the time, Laura and I. Keeping your own place, yeah, I can see wanting the independence and all, but the room across the landing—"

"You mean the one where I currently store three shirts, a clean suit, my extra shoes, and a waist high stack of books?"

Laura gave a snort. "It hadn't escaped our notice that you were taking our entreaties to make yourself comfortable seriously. I like the tea you brought with you, by the way."

James dipped his head in acknowledgement. He took a deep breath and exhaled sharply. "You're asking me to move in with you?"

"Seems like you already have." Robbie grinned. "Everyone thinks you live here already. You save a bit of money on a flat—"

"I would pay rent here, of course."

Laura nodded. "We can work that out—groceries, cooking."

"A housework chart." James's sardonic smirk softened into one of his rare, delighted smiles. "I haven't been a housemate in years. So—I don't have to buy a kettle."

"Not today, no."

"Then, yes, of course. Absolutely. I want to be part of your lives." He gave Laura a look. "Remember before I walked the Camino, you and I talked about how people mark a commitment?"

She cast her thoughts back recalling his sad countenance, how her heart went out to him and how she felt when she was able to say the right thing to ease his sadness. It made her feel buoyant. She loved Robbie, yes, but she was very fond of James, too, and she wanted to see more of those smiles, more delight in his eyes. She nodded, remembering that they had talked of her wanting Robbie to buy kitchen appliances rather than a ring.

"I think I'll buy a juicer for the three of us," James said, grinning.

Robbie considered this. "Could plant an orange tree, I suppose. We get good sun out there. Are you up for digging a hole today, James, now that we've done a bit of gardening out there?"

James picked up their plates. "Yeah. There are advantages to planting it in a large pot, though." He filled the sink with water. 

Laura tidied the table and stood in the doorway.

Robbie moved James away from the sink, his hand lingering on James's back. Laura watched the interplay between the two of them, the way James stood at his shoulder, the tilt of his head, as if he'd swoop in and steal a kiss. Robbie saw it too and leaned toward him, paused as if waiting for permission and then kissed him softly, his hand on James's cheek.

James has made a place in our hearts, she thought. So unusual, to think of him at one moment wanting to be close like that, and then not wanting to go any farther. Not usually. They'd learned, the three of them, the only way any of it worked was to talk.

But when the pair of them were close like that, it always seemed that words were unnecessary.

James nudged his shoulder. Robbie nudged him back.

And if that's all it takes to make them happy, then I suppose that's all right with me, Laura thought, as they finished up. As long as the three of us are together, that's all that matters.

"Are we going to have the orange tree delivered, then?" James wanted to know. He paused in the doorway, smiling at Laura. She stretched up and kissed him, much like Robbie did, affectionate and warm. He hugged her after, as if that was more intimate, and cupped her face with his hands. "I'm happy you're staying."

Robbie came up behind them and stretched his arms to hug them both. "There. One big happy family. Maybe we should get a mini-van. Could put a tree in one of those. Move your things. Say, we could get the tree when we move your things—maybe hire a van?"

"That's a good idea, Robbie. We need another bookcase in the living room, too."

"Can do the tree, the bookcase, and help James move house—" Robbie jingled his keys in his pocket and went to the door.

James tilted his head, the corner of his mouth curling up in a speculative smile, his eyebrows drawing together as he moved to Robbie's side. "In a hurry?"

"Damn right I am," replied Robbie. "Not taking any chances that you'll over-think it and find an excuse not to move in. We'll get some boxes and drop them at your flat before we go to the garden center to pick out the tree."

Laura followed the two men to the door, watched them pull away in the car.

She smiled to herself, glad that she had talked it over with her little family, glad that they had helped her make the decision to stay. She hadn't actually given the fellowship committee her answer yet. She was expecting the conference call any minute now.

Her laptop pinged. Skype. She looked at her watch. Right on time. She was rather glad to be missing out on 'the opportunity of a lifetime' at the 'top forensics program' in the States—such a 'prestigious position.' She had a much more important position right there at home.


End file.
